


Tess

by hellsperfecterrandboy



Category: Johnny the Homicidal Maniac
Genre: F/M, Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 18:08:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15846612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellsperfecterrandboy/pseuds/hellsperfecterrandboy
Summary: What would've happened if Tess had caught Johnny's attention instead of Devi?





	Tess

**Author's Note:**

> I'm super late for the kink meme. The prompt was what if Tess had taken Devi's place on the fateful date? Once again I apologise for my writing. This has been months in the making and I'm still not happy with it but if I hoard it any longer I'll go crazy.

Tess is eager to please.

Tess is eager to please, and hard to teach, so against her better judgement she decides to go on a date. 

It seems to her that her entire life up until this point has been one disappointment after another. Disappointments of the romantic variety, of the familial kind, the ...physical kind, if she’s to go that far. But Tess is in love with love.

A string of bad boyfriends and girlfriends had led her to this grimy city with its green tinted, stagnant air and cracked pavement. Love guided her down these dark paths she walked upon now. These twisting sidewalks she swears follow her. Not the other way around.

Her home was long gone now, out in the country where the cold sky went on forever. Here the buildings took center stage, and while the height and steel and glittering glass were beautiful, she'd much rather see the stars. The man-made concrete had nothing on the foreign coldness the cosmos has to offer her. 

Stars that twinkled endlessly into the distance on and on like they were meant to be seen. And they were. Not unlike her previous lovers, (she hesitates to call them that, it’s so cheesy) she feels longing just the same, to be seen by them, to be just as bright. She’d left chasing someone whose name hardly matters now. That girl, slick with rain and smelling like smoke had beckoned with one long black nail and grasped her chin and Tess had gone briefly blind and followed. Thousands of miles later she was in California, in a city with a name she couldn’t care to remember. The girl breezed from her with a laugh, and Tess was left frighteningly alone.

So when a customer at work had remarked to her that he knew a place where she could stargaze, she'd snapped at the opportunity.

\---

And here they are.

It's October and the breeze from here is strong. From her perch on the hood of the car, she can feel herself swaying. The idea of sliding off the hood and off of the cliff and onto sharp sharp sharp rocks is looming over. The mist surrounding paints everything grey. Her companion, thin, addled looking man that he is, is unquestionably solid and present against the fog, hard edges and geometric shapes make him up. He's like another fixture of the city, a living extension of cold steel with old eyes. And he looks like he belongs here in a way that she knows she never will.

And yet.

She cranes her head back and inky, enveloping darkness is above her, all consuming, powerful in its majesty. She could almost pretend that she belongs here too. Thrift store dress and hot glued together boots she’d snagged from a donation bin made her look almost like one of the pretty goth girls on the corners at night. Almost.

The innumerable stars stare down at her, and absentmindedly she reaches one hand up to cup the shape of the moon. She holds like that for a minute and imagines that she can feel its weight. The cold surface of it and the strain in her wrist from its immensity and the snap when it bears down.

She shakes her head.

Looks down to see him staring at her.

Johnny is strange. Tess knows this. But she can't get over the way he looks at her. Like she's some kind of deity that lights him up like no other. He looks at her like she looks at the stars. Reverence there, and jealousy, too. Nobody has ever looked at Tess. Nobody's ever really looked for her. Who she is underneath this need and want and makeup.

\---

Johnny had walked into the store a few weeks earlier, wandering from isle to isle with no clear purpose. Tess had sighed, put on her best customer service smile, the kind where your teeth and gums are painfully on display, and she had walked over to him. She mentally prepared to lecture someone else on how to set up their easel or how to use acrylic paints.

He'd startled upon seeing her, so much so that he had dropped glass bottle he'd been fiddling with. His hands, long-fingered and painted tar black had scrambled to get a hold on the object. A pair of sunken black eyes widened. And the bottle had shattered into a million pieces on the tiles, thankfully empty.

Tess, with a placating smile, went to go get the broom and was surprised when he was still there. She was more surprised still went he took the broom and dustpan from her hands and proceeded to clean up the shards of glass himself.

“I'm sorry, I swear I was just looking at it. You scared me is all, I really didn't mean to,” he said, quickly.

She had blinked at him. Down at him. He was quite short, especially in the face of her chunky heeled boots. 

“Um... I'm Johnny. Johnny ….C,” he said, swiping shards into the dustpan.

“Are you sure?” she’d asked, jokingly.

He smiled up, cautiously, and his deep eyes lit up.

“Truth be told, sometimes I’m not so certain.” 

“Me too, " she said, for lack of anything better to say.

He stood and dumped the remains of the jar into the trash can she provided. He didn’t look away from her as he did so, smile wide if a little uncertain. She had looked him over, from the shoddily cut hair to the ripped jeans and frayed laces of his boots to the sunken pits of his eyes. Those boots were cool.

'How do those even work…?’ she thought, examining the patchwork of buckles laces and zippers holding Johnny's boots together. 

She gave a smile. Rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly, and started back to the counter.

He’d looked at her as she’d walked away. Back to the counter and away from the cute stranger with the dark, sleepless eyes.

“Um, excuse me?”

She turned around, and saw him standing with his hands clasped awkwardly behind his back. One of his steel-toed boots made a nervous tapping motion. 

Click click click.

“I was just wondering…”

A pause.

“Would you like to…”

Another pause.

“Perhaps this weekend, if you aren’t working, I mean….”

“Yes?”

“I just mean to say that you look like the kind of person who would enjoy… looking at the stars. I know a place with a great view?"

Carefully chosen words. Uneasy glances for approval. She recognized this. Tess was not used to taking control.

“What gives you the impression I’d like to stargaze, Romeo?" she asked.

“Your bracelet.” 

She stared for a moment at him, uncomprehending. 

“The symbol on your bracelet? It's Sagittarius, right?”

She looked down at her wrist where the cheap enamel bangle hung. Stretched over and around it was a string of stars. She'd thought it was cute when she'd bought it, a month back when everyone went through a phase of zodiac themed jewelry. It feels heavy and ugly now, but she's unwilling to throw anything away at this point.

His eyes took on a hazy look, and he started reciting something.

“Sagittarius. Kind and honest. A traveller. Tactless, irresponsible at times. Unfailingly and dangerously smart. Philosophical.”

He smiled at that.

“I mean, if you believe that kinda thing. I don’t, personally. Everyone should know that zodiac signs are just a passing trend. People like to think you can be easily sorted into boxes, especially marketers. The people making things like that bracelet you're wearing want to capitalize on stupidity and the human need to be told what to do.”

A tongue darts out to lick his lips.

“And everyone likes stars.”

She stared.

“So anyway! Not to uh… insult your choice in jewelry. But… yeah.”

“Um…”

“Ok, that was extremely rude, I'm sorry. I hope that doesn't influence your answer…”

She blinked a few times and finally snaps back into place. Holy shit, that was… metal? That didn’t seem like the right word, but Tess could feel herself gravitating. So unlike her to be attracted to someone so shy. Maybe it was time for a change.

He didn’t look like a hobo, so that was nice. Did his jeans come ripped like that, or were the tears from years of wear? She didn’t know. Years of being trained to judge people on their clothes told her that he seemed more worthy of someone like Anne or Cleo. But her heart told her that Anne and Cleo weren’t worthy of him. Or something akin to a heart. Whatever that shriveled up black thing that pumped her blood was.  
\---

After work, Tess ran off to her apartment to get ready. She hadn't shown it, but it had been so so long since she'd felt anything akin to this excitement. She changed and grabbed some cash and her emergency pepper spray and was out the door in a flurry of movement. Slammed the door behind her and from outside she could hear the thump of a picture frame falling from the wall. 

Her nerves were buzzing as she more or less jumped down the stairs of the apartment complex and into the parking lot, where Johnny and his car were sitting. It was an ugly car, small and gray with red speckles from age covering the sides. On top was a smiley face antenna. It reminded her of the car her friends had taken from the junkyard back home to take out to the fields. Broken down and smelling like pot and sex and a million other odors from years of use.

Johnny's car smells like cherries and a metallic tang she attributes to rust.

She climbs in, her head just scraping the ceiling. Johnny looks different, immediately, she notices. She hadn't been the only one to fuss over her appearance, it seemed. Johnny had changed into a different outfit as well, and his erratic blue hair had been tamed. He looks vaguely uncomfortable. Long fingered hands tap an erratic rhythm on the steering wheel as he stares at her, that expression of breathless awe on his face.

Her cheeks heat a little bit. Damn him.

“Um. Hi?” She says.

He stares for a moment longer before pulling the car into reverse and backing out of the parking lot. They pull onto the road, and Tess feels very much like she’s suffocating already with the silence.

“Um… where did you say this place was?”

His hands still tapping the steering wheel as he drives,he mutters, “Just down the road a bit. Past the suburbs and down a little back road that I don't think has a name….”

He smiles faintly.

“And what is this mystery destination, anyhow? Is this an Evil Dead scenario I should be worried about walking into?” She smiles, but his eyes take on a kind of hazy, half angry look.

“I never liked that movie.” He says.

Any chance to talk about cheesy horror movie, Tess is in. Plus it couldn't hurt to turn this uneasy car ride into something less awkward. 

“You didn't? I thought it was funny. All that gore and stop motion in the middle was cool.”

“It was totally unrealistic! Blood doesn't look like that. It was practically shooting out of them like… like it was pumped out of one of those nerf water guns.”

“Well, yeah, I guess. But the cheesiness is what makes it fun!”

“And the way they turned into those demons was disgusting! What the fuck was that even about? Fucking vile is what that was.”

He has a serious look on his face, lip curled up and hands gesticulating wildly.

“Okay, I'll agree with you there. That was overkill on the gross factor.”

“I'm glad you agree. Otherwise I'd have to forcibly remove you from my car.”

They both stare ahead, at the road, where a raccoon is smeared across the yellow line.

Tess laughs. Johnny gives her a look, but soon joins in. The mood is gone as quick as that, and so too the ride.

They pull into a sort of driveway a while after, into a clearing. Still a little giddy, Tess hops out, only to find herself on the edge of a cliff.

Her eyes go wide in a fashion she imagines is very comical, and her arms windmill out. Her legs search for purchase against crumbling dirt. Those cobbled together boots can’t make a foothold. A breeze is on her then, pushing her toward the fall that would surely mean her death. Then something grasps her hand.

She is pulled back onto semi-solid ground.

“Holy fucking shit,” she says.

The ground underneath her is spongy from last night’s rain, and she runs a tentative hand across the dirt. Her knees are covered in it now. Johnny stares down at her. 

“Can't have you dying on me.” He says, a pleasant smile on his face.

She gasps for air.

“Motherfucker, I thought I was gonna die… ugh”, she groans, “…. Give me a minute. I gotta let the primal fear of death wear off…”

“Don’t worry about it. I didn’t realize I was that close to the edge. Better you than me though, right?” 

He laughs uproariously and she feels her anger catch up with her.

“So you just take all the girls out here? Just let them all fall off the cliffs for funsies?”

“No, I usually take care of it myself.”

They stare at each other, and Tess sees the smile on his face fall. Her heart is beating out of her chest, but as always, her anger is fleeting.

“You’re an asshole,” she says, halfheartedly.

“Duly noted. Shall we?” 

He gestures towards the hood of the car, and dips into a low bow, tilting his head up. The smile is back now, only a little bit too pleased with himself.

“And a dork,” she adds, climbing onto the hood.

The car dents a little under her weight, so she slides back against the glass. Johnny doesn’t have this problem, and perches on the very edge of the car like something that could any moment take flight and be gone.

He's beautiful, a patchwork of ugly human emotion and machine-like tact.

She stares up at the stars in all their indifference and wonders if this one will last.

\---

They sit like that for hours, talking and talking, making jokes about anything, other people mostly. At one point a group of teenagers walk into the clearing and skulk around the tree-line. They’re dressed in black from head to toe, with acne spotted skin and ill-fitting boots not unlike Johnny’s as they stomp down. She watches them talk for a while, with Johnny still looking up into the stars, perfectly content. He’d sit here all night if she left him to it, and he’d told her as much.

Nudging his shoulder with her boot, she says, “Look at those kids.” 

She snickers as one of them gestures wildly with a fishnet glove. His eyes are ringed with Kohl and his striped shirt is fraying toward the bottom. He looks like a hot topic goth kid, not the kind who shops at the vintage thrift stores. Probably got into goth when the last Cure album came around. The kind of kid Anne would mock behind their back and then play mother hen to.

Johnny looks down, looks at her, and then turns to watch the kids.

“What about them?”

“That one in the velvet dress looks like hot shit, huh?"

He looks unamused. 

“I mean, they probably just started dressing like that after a music video or something. They think they're cool. It's funny.”

He stares still, a little disappointment in his features. It looks like the face of the teacher explaining something very obvious to their student.

“What of it?”

Tess is dumbstruck. Nobody's ever not laughed at the posers like that before. She's at a loss for what to say.

Her thoughts grind to a halt.

“Well uh… you know, they’re just so cheap looking, you know? Posers?”

Johnny’s face isn’t disappointed anymore, it’s sad and a little angry.

“Don’t talk like one of them.” he says, simply.

“Like… what?”

“One of them.” he says, pointing a sharp finger in her direction, “One of those assholes you hang around with. Think they’re better than everyone else when they’re all same."

"...I’m sorry?”

“Don’t be sorry. Be better.”

Tess is still a little confused.

“How do you know who I hang out with?” she asks.

“I just… I can tell. I’ve seen people like you before.”

“...Okay?”

“I just can’t stand people not being themselves.” 

Tess looks at him, really looks, and sees someone who knows what it’s like to be on the other side of a pointing finger. Someone who’s heard mocking words and laughter ringing in his head. She sees dark dark eyes and mangy blue hair and a faint sickly yellow undertone to his skin and someone authentic. Whether for better or worse, she sees that Johnny is a real person.

He looks at her, too. Tess wonders if he’s seeing the multitudes she’s seeing.

“Okay.”

So she turns her eyes back to the sky and so does he, and they talk. They talk about stars, and Tess doesn’t know much about them but loves them all the same. They talk about art, movies and favorite foods, and where Tess grew up. 

“I didn’t have the best childhood.” he says, running a hand over the scratchy top of the car, engrossed in the way the rust flakes off and coats his palm.

“Me either.”

He looks at her sidelong.

“What happened?”

“I… I grew up on a ranch. In the middle of nowhere. My parents didn't like me much.”

“Oh. Why?”

She didn’t, not specifically, but she had suspicions. Overheard conversations filled the rooms of the house as she laid in her bed, ricocheted off the walls and amplified until all she could hear was her own name and the shrill screams of her mother.

“I guess they just didn’t like my personality? Like… my mom said she loved me but she never took any time to know me. She was always showing me off, telling everyone what a smart, beautiful daughter she had, but she only like the parts of me that were easy to ...commodify..."

“What a bitch.” he says. 

Tess wonders if she was, or if she was just seeing things. Maybe all mothers are like that.

“She was.” she says.

She licks her lips, not noticing that her mouth had gone dry.

“But what about yours?”

“...My what?”

“Your childhood? What was it like when you were a kid?”

He pauses, and reclines on the hood, arms at his sides.

“I don’t really remember. I remember it being cold at my house... and wet but… everything else is… I can almost remember my room, it was white plaster but I’d painted it over with so many charcoal drawings it was more grey than anything… It was so cold.”

He shakes his head.

“I can’t remember much else.”

His eyes slide closed. They’ve been here for hours. His hands twitch, bits of flaking rust making their way underneath his black nails.

“Do you wanna go back to my place?”

She sees him open his eyes and sees the reflection of millions of stars in his irises.

“Sure.”

\---

The drive back is much less awkward, with Johnny playing some showtunes or something while Tess talks at length about the stars.

“ I just… they make me feel so small you know? Like I don’t matter. But they’re so beautiful…”

Johnny is watching the road but he takes a moment to glance in her direction.

“You like feeling small?” he asks.

“Well,” she begins, “It makes me feel small but… safe? It makes you feel like your problems aren’t the most important thing in the world. It’s…”

“Humbling?” Johnny supplies.

“Yeah.”

Johnny agrees with her, which is in and of itself a rarity. Usually her opinions are discarded, but Johnny listens intently to everything she says, adding his own thoughts in a respectful manner.

“Other people don’t appreciate the stars like they should. They’ve all got their heads shoved so far up their own asses they can’t see the magnificence of the world around them. It’s… monstrous... how little they care.”

They pause for a while in contemplation.

“So you work at the art supply store, what kind of stuff do you do?” Johnny asks.

“Oh, well I uh… I actually don't do… art,” she decides to say.

Tess can remember wanting to be an artist when she was young, but as she grew into adulthood her talents had faded away. Working at the store was perhaps her hope that some of the talent that came through that door would rub off on her.

“Well you must do something, everyone has an outlet,” Johnny says, head tilted downwards.

“I write,” she concedes, “But I don't do anything artsy.”

“What do you mean? Writing is just as much an art form as drawing or sculpting. Just as important. It has the same capacity to cause emotions in others, to inspire ideas of beauty. If you create something that touches someone or touches on something grand and isn’t utter garbage then you should be called an artist.”

They pull up to the house after a while, not too far from Tess’ own it feels like, but she can’t recognize any of the signs or landmarks around them. Johnny’s house is little more than a glorified shack, and the houses around him are only marginally better. Each house is a small plaster and cement sort of place, cold and uninviting.

Johnny pulls near the curb and parks, and Tess steps out onto a sidewalk littered with cans and other trash. 

“Sorry about that, fucking neighbors like to dump their shit everywhere,” Johnny says.

He looks annoyed at that, but when he looks at Tess he smiles slightly.

Tess smiles back.

As they walk she swears she can see a used condom on one of the lawns.

They walk to the house, their boots cracking the dry dry grass. Johnny opens the door and Tess notes that it’s unlocked.

The room they walk into is very different from Tess’ apartment. The room is the size of a bedroom, with white walls stained faintly yellow in places, and the floor is splintery wood. floral pattern. On one end of the room is a television with novelty bunny ears on top, and beside that is a door and a hallway. There must be a kitchen somewhere, but all she can see is this room.

“Well… this is the home of a starving artist, if I’ve ever seen one,” Tess says, kicking a red splattered paint tray away with her foot.

“You could say that, I guess,“ Johnny shrugs, “The starving part is accurate I suppose.”

He leaps over the back of the couch to sit on one side, and she somewhat reluctantly takes her place on the other end. She can’t help but wonder what sort of stain she’s currently sitting on. Johnny grabs the remote from its place on the armrest and flicks the tv on.

“I don’t have my neighbors to blame my shitty abode on, so this is all me. Sorry.” he says.

“No, it’s… fine. I’ve seen worse,” she says, though she’s lying.

She’s reminded of the countless houses she’s stayed over at in her life, walls with holes punched into them. Carpets that smell like cigarettes and bleach. Children's drawings littering the floor, gifted to a mother who will never come back.

“Doubtful, but sure.”

Johnny folds himself into an odd little shape on his side of the couch. Skinny arms circle equally skinny legs and his eyes dart around nervously. Like he’s gotta do something he really doesn’t want to. The tv screen shows colorful bars and grainy images.

“Are you… okay?” she asks.

“I’m just… I’m happy.”

“Oh.”

He shifts and moves to sit a little closer to her.

“It’s just… I had a good night. It’s very... rare anything nice happens to me, you know?”

“...Yeah. Everything’s a real shitshow for me too. Usually at this point in the date I’ve been felt up without my permission and I have to fake an emergency to get out of it.” she says.

“I would never!”

“I know. I can tell. Don’t worry, you’ve been nothing but a gentleman,” she teases.

“I hope so. It’s been a long time since I’ve done this…”

“It shows. But I like you so it’s okay.”

“...I’m really happy right now.”

His eyes are shiny.

“...Me too.”

He stares at her, shocked and confused. His lips are parted slightly, exposing the pink muscle of his tongue and interior of his mouth. She wants to reach in and grab his tongue, pull out all his nervous words and make him silent and sure. Instead she leans in and parts her lips. 

She hears his sharp intake of breath as her eyes slide closed.

Then feels a breeze as he stands up.

“Johnny? Nny?” she calls.

He stands and walks quickly away, the couch lifting up on his side and flakes of red flying up from it. 

“Johnny? What’s wrong? Do you ...not want to?”

She stands and follows him, down a short hallway and to what could generously be called a bedroom. The door is shut and marked with a shaky red X. She turns the handle and the door makes an awful creaking noise.

“There you are,” she says.

She barely has time to take in her surroundings. The room is small, smaller even than the living room, with no furniture except the old cracking mirror and dusty curtains on one side. Beside the mirror are two ghoulishly painted styrofoam Pillsbury Doughboys, which leer at her with their painted faces. Johnny is there, and he turns and she notices the long daggers in each hand.

His eyes are wild and wide, and a savage leer contorts his face. She looks at him, and down to the weapons in his hands, and makes a quick grab for the door knob. It squeaks and screams as she tries to open it, and Johnny advances slowly. Surely. She gets the feeling he’s done this before. Of course any feelings are reserved for after the chase.

The scraping sound of the door opening is like nails on a chalkboard. The sound of her boots on the hardwood floors is similarly torturous. Not near as painful as the promise of Johnny behind her, but there and real nonetheless. She runs down the hall and to the right, where she knows another door is. Johnny’s presence a few feet behind her is something akin to someone walking over her grave. She pulls on the latch of the door, bracing her feet and pulling. The door remains unmoved. A bead of sweat runs down her back. She hears footsteps and can smell decay. The stains on the couch when she turns no longer remind her of paint or stains, and the smell that’s pervading the air is rot. Unmistakably rot.

She can smell him now. He smells like canned food and rust and old blood. Like something animal and dead wrapped in tin foil. She sees him round the corner and look around wildly until he locks eyes with her. His face is pulled into an ugly snarl. For a moment they both stare at each other, and Tess can remember a lesson she learned in school. Animals have more than three responses to danger. Fight and flight. And freeze.

Her muscles lock up and stay that way, and Johnny is shaking off his rage into something more pleasant looking, but that doesn’t matter because his knives are poised over her now.

And then he nudges Tess away from the door. She feels herself fall over onto the wood floor, but doesn’t make any attempt to run or even move as he pushes her with his steel-tipped boots. Then he opens it and pushes her down the stairs.

Her body is limp.

She feels everything as she falls. Fear and anger and wood digging into her flesh like a million splinters all at once. She falls down a whole flight and lands face down, her head slamming down onto the hard floors.

Everything goes a little dim after that, but she can hear Johnny making his way down the steps after her, slow and careful. Like the way he talked at the shop. Tess can smell the rotten corpse smell that sticks to him as he moves, swirling around like a miasma.

She plants one foot on the ground and lifts. Where her head was there’s a small puddle of blood with her broken glasses in it. They’re twisted and chipped in places and she dimly thinks that she’s going to have to replace them. Shame.

Now the world is small and dark and on top of all that- blurry- horribly blurry. She can vaguely make out the shape of Johnny, small and dark and with huge white splotches where his eyes are. Pulling herself into a standing position hurts. She reaches to the wall beside her and finds a table, rendered nigh invisible with her sudden blindness.

“I know this isn’t proper date etiquette but you’re just...you know, you’re not making this easy on me, you know? None of the others ran. They screamed, I guess. Cried. Violently expelled the contents of their bowels. You know, the usual. What the damned do when they meet their reckoning.”

Tess can’t see the smile on his face but she knows it’s there.

“Nobody ever ran before. Strange how that ...animal terror can immobilize you so thoroughly, hmm? But luckily, you’re not damned. Quite the opposite, really. You’re special. This is for a good cause. I have to kill you before the rot sets in.”

Her head is throbbing. Pulsating.

Johnny’s ever advancing form is less blurry now, and she can see the white of his teeth as he smiles.

“You’re beautiful, you know that? You’re covered in shit but you’re beautiful underneath. You’re so used to being the ugly one, you’ve internalized it, poor thing. Haven’t you? Throwing your shit at other people because you’re too scared to take a look at yourself. Too scared to see yourself for the shell you’ve become. The self-righteous, pitious little-!”

He’s cut off as a stray piece of metal sheeting is thrown at him. It hits him square in his tiny bird skull with a crack like lightning, accompanied by his screech when it makes impact. 

The sheet of metal strikes the floor, and she can see his lips pull back so severely they turn white and bloodless. Those racoon eyes are wide and his pupils are blown so big his eyes are pinpricks. She’s angry, furiously so, her hands grab at the table until she grabs something cold and heavy. She hefts it over her head and runs at him. 

“You… fucker!” she yells.

Clever.

The object in her hand, which turns out to be a short pipe, hits him in the arm as he blocks her, but her other hand comes up to claw at his face at the same time. He looks angry too, but her anger is a burning thing, heating her cheeks and arms like sweet hot adrenaline. She kicks and she swings with her weapon and twists and turns and ducks and everything is hurting but she can hardly care. Not when he’s on the floor below her, snarling and fighting back so hard. She’s thinking of the animal smeared across the road today, and older memories. The van they drove up to the cliff to dive off of and fireflies in hot July in the fields, and the smell of ashes and most importantly, the sensation of blood on her fists.

She can remember her house, lit up like the lights on Christmas and maybe it wasn’t lights but something more… volatile. Something home-cooked and burnt. Fire licks at her feet and ash is in her lungs. Her mother's screams and the sound of two pairs of feet slapping wet grass as an escape is made. She strikes him again and again, arms burning and blood splattering on her clothes. He’s screaming and trying to avoid her, but he’s nothing, not strong enough to fight back and not strong enough to run. So he stays, bleeding and crying, underneath her boots. 

Then Johnny stills beneath her and she stands over him.

She steps back, throwing the pipe away. When she swipes her hand over her forehead it comes back covered in blood.

“You… motherfucker.” she gasps, her breath coming in pants.

“You… you fucking asshole. You sad sack of shit, luring me here into your rat-infested bullshit of a home. Blood... on your goddamn couch...”

She runs a sticky hand through her hair. Johnny is mysteriously quiet, though she can see that his eyes are open and staring at her. He looks… strange. A moment ago his eyes were angry and feral, but now he looks… peaceful. Bruised rings outline his black eyes. Gone is the fire from both of them now, but Tess feels changed. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out the can of pepper spray she carries with her and gives a resentful spray to Johnny’s eyes. He screams and flails, and she stares for a while longer, reveling, before she climbs the stairs. She’s up and away quickly even with her legs flaring in agony every step she takes. 

She reaches the top and when she does she smells that iron smell again. It’s on her hands and in her eyes and all over her clothes, seeping in and dyeing her being an unsightly red.

Her hand closes around the latch of the door, and the light from above paints Johnny a sickly grey. That is, where the blood hasn’t marked him too. She gives him the finger as he crawls his way to the base of the steps. Then, she closes the door and latches it.

\---

Outside the night is black and cool, and she feels like, for the first time since she got here, she belongs.


End file.
